


our love is a ghost (that the others can't see)

by transkylo (captainandor)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: After a lot of emotional angst, Angst, Established Relationship, Eventual Sex, Exes, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Prompt Fill, These two have no idea how relationships work but they're trying, cryptic sort-of marriage proposals, there's a vague plot in here somewhere if you squint maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:43:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainandor/pseuds/transkylo
Summary: “Thank you.” Ren says, eventually. It’s not a phrase that often leaves his mouth, and Hux turns to him, blinking, as he looks at the man sitting on the floor by his feet.“What for?”Ren is still gazing down at the flower, twirling it between his fingers now. A loose petal falls, drifts slowly to the floor.“For these.” He says, tapping it with the tip of one finger, “The gifts. I know that it was you.”OrRen likes flowers. Hux finds out.





	our love is a ghost (that the others can't see)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tokyo_the_Glaive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/gifts).



> Written for the prompt _Kylo likes flowers. It's not something he's told anyone, but Hux finds out. Shortly thereafter, Kylo begins to receive flowers regularly_ as part of the Valentines Kyluxchange 2018. I took the idea and sort of ran with it - because I still have a _lot_ of feelings after TLJ and I wanted to do something with them
> 
> Title is from 'Familiar' by Agnes Obel
> 
> Mild content warning for (vague/referenced) mentions of abusive behaviour RE the events of TLJ. I wanted to keep it as canon as possible, and unfortunately there was no way around that.

“What is the purpose of the expedition to Eadu.” Kylo Ren demands, without preamble, as he steps onto the bridge. Hearing his voice, unmodulated, in front of his crew, is something which Hux is still struggling to get used to, though he’s loathe to admit it, even to himself. There’s something so intimate about the quality of Ren’s voice – it’s so youthful, so smooth – that it makes his skin crawl knowing that it’s no longer his privilege alone to hear it. 

Hux closes the file he’s been reviewing on his datapad, and turns smartly on his heel. Ren is standing a foot or so away from him, visibly tense, the air around him seeming to crackle, as if his instability is having a direct effect on the atmosphere, and defying the very nature of physics in itself. A muscle under his eye jumps as he waits for Hux to respond. 

“Supreme Leader.” He addresses, keeping his voice purposefully bland.

That Ren already knows about the mission Hux had plotted out less than an hour ago is no surprise.

Hux turns and gestures to his datapad, at the maps showing onscreen, before he answers. “Eadu is the site of an abandoned Imperial research facility. An informant has contacted us to suggest that there may be intel here of some use. The facility was used to develop and research weapons for the Empire. I’m sure it’s quite below your concern, Supreme Leader.” 

Ren glances over Hux’s shoulder at the screen, his eyes barely skirting over it before they land squarely on Hux’s face again. This new blankness in his eyes is disconcerting. He hasn’t been the same since whatever had happened that day with Snoke and the resistance girl, though this unfamiliar distance between them has been growing for far longer. 

“Anything that happens on this ship is my concern.” He says, then adds, “I will be joining you planetside.” 

Hux feels his forehead creasing into a frown, unbidden. “For what purpose?”

“No concern of yours.” Ren replies, curt, “Carry out your mission as planned. My presence will alter nothing.” 

He leaves just as suddenly as he’d arrived, inky robes swirling when he turns to stride off the bridge, Hux’s eyes following him until he’s disappeared out of sight and lingering for moments after. When he turns back to his work, several officers’ eyes snap quickly back to their stations, heads down. 

Resisting the urge to rub his temples, Hux presses a gloved finger against the comm button. It’s Unamo who answers, her voice crackling over the line when she addresses him. 

“General Hux, Sir.” 

“Chief Petty Officer,” he replies, glancing at the scheduling details in front of him, “Inform Lieutenant Javson that the Supreme Leader’s shuttle will be departing for Eadu at fourteen hundred hours.” 

“Yes, Sir.” She replies, “Will you be taking your own shuttle?” 

Hux pauses, “No. All Stormtroopers are to report to Hangar four prior to departure. That will be all.” 

“Understood, Sir.”

*** 

Eadu’s atmosphere is just as hostile as Hux had anticipated, the shuttle hitting turbulence almost immediately upon entry to the atmosphere. He remains still in his seat, the belt strapped across his chest holding him safely in place as the cabin is jostled, the lights flickering overhead. Ren is seated across from him, cross legged, eyes closed. He isn’t wearing his own belt – had removed it mere minutes after take off in favour of pulling his legs up onto the bench and dropping into some kind of silent meditation that he has continued for the entire duration of their journey. Hux doesn’t mind. It only means that they won’t need to engage in any attempt at conversation, and he can use the time to strategize and keep an eye on the notifications sent to his datapad like he’d already intended to before Ren had intercepted his plans.

There’s a crackle of static over the comm as the pilot speaks. “Entering Atmosphere. Approximately ten minutes until landing.” 

Ren remains silent, nothing on his face or in his body language to indicate he’s heard the announcement at all. Hux trusts he’ll know when the shuttle touches down, else he’ll be left behind onboard. 

Another bump rocks the shuttle, Hux’s datapad nearly slipping from between his gloved fingers. Ren’s hand shoots out to steady himself against the durasteel wall, eyes blinking open. He has a faraway expression on his face when he looks over. 

“We’re here.” He says. 

Hux purses his lips. “Landing in ten minutes.” He replies, resisting the urge to tack on the _‘as you’d know if you had been paying any attention’_ , that sits on the tip of his tongue. Ren likely hears the thought anyway – Hux does nothing to conceal it. 

Ren doesn’t bother to reply, but Hux hadn’t expected him to. Their relationship has been strained at best since Starkiller – and everything thereafter has only served to make it worse. Ren still hasn’t apologised properly for what happened in Snoke’s throne room, or on Crait. He’s only withdrawn, made himself that much harder to reach, and Hux feels that distance the most when they’re in the same room as one another. 

At first he’d put it down to Snoke. Of course it would be in Snoke’s interests for the two of them to be at odds – Ren had failed Starkiller, himself, and Hux – and Snoke had exploited that failure, had exploited Hux’s anger. But with Snoke’s death – with Kylo’s blatant lie about the circumstances in which it had happened – the gulf between them had only widened. It hurts when he thinks about it, but Hux has never been good with voicing his emotions, his father had made sure of that, and now there’s no way to fix things, not when Ren has his sights set on newer goals. Luke Skywalker is gone, but the direction of Ren’s vengeance has only been fine-tuned, focused on the resistance girl and her friends, and there is little room in Ren’s mind for anything else. 

When they land, Hux steps off the shuttle without waiting for Ren or looking back over his shoulder. The Stormtroopers file out ahead of him, blasters wielded, and stand to attention, waiting for their orders. Hux wishes for his command cap – the rain is heavy, bouncing off the ground and slapping against his exposed skin like icy needles. 

“At Ease.” He commands, turning to face them, his hands clasped behind his back. The collar of his expedition coat is flipped up to keep out the worst of the weather, though he can feel droplets of rain sliding down his forehead. “You have all been briefed on the location of the facility. Approach with caution, and wait for my signal.” He gives the order to disband, and glances back towards the shuttle just as Ren is disembarking, hood pulled low, his face cast in shadow. 

The wind whips at his robes as he strides down the gangway, and Hux waits to meet him on the ground, determined to retain composure despite the adverse weather. Ren stops in front of him, and tilts his head, offering Hux the briefest glimpse of his face under the hooded cowl. 

“Will you be joining us at the facility, Supreme Leader?” he asks, hating the way the title sounds as he voices it, and half hoping that Ren notices how much he despises saying it, “Or have you your own agenda to adhere to?”

Ren looks off to the side, his gaze directed at something in the distance. All Hux can see when he looks is rain and rocks, but Ren’s expression is determined when he faces Hux again. 

“I will re-join you at the facility. I shouldn’t be long.” 

“Very well.” Hux begins to reply, but Ren is already turning from him, picking his way expertly across the rocky terrain. He doesn’t wait for Ren to disappear out of sight, just turns in the direction of the facility, and motions for the remaining two Stormtroopers to accompany him. 

The journey there is relatively straightforward, they encounter no lifeforms – the readings done on arrival showed that life on Eadu is few and far between, the planet having been rarely used since the days of the Empire, before its abandonment after the death of Galen Erso and his team of researchers. They should be undisturbed, and unless Ren’s personal mission delays them, they should be easily completed within a few hours. 

Hux is grateful to step out of the rain, even though the facility is stone cold, having gone almost thirty-four years without heat. The data they’re looking for is old, outdated technology, and locating it is only the first part of the task. Technicians aboard the Finalizer will have to work to extract the data and upgrade it before it’s of any use to them. 

When they emerge an hour and a half later, Hux is surprised to see Ren already there, crouched near the ground by the entrance of the facility. His hood is down, dark hair plastered to his head by the rain. He appears to be looking down at something, his expression drawn.

Hux gives the Stormtroopers the silent command to head back to the shuttle ahead of him, the data file stored safely within his coat. They obey, and he crosses over to Ren. 

“Supreme Leader.” He says, and Ren looks up, startled, as if he hadn’t realised Hux was there. “The mission to retrieve the data has been completed. Are you ready to return to the shuttle or do you require more time for your – own tasks?” he can’t help but glance down at Ren’s gloved hands, which appear to be holding something. He catches a flash of lilac, before Ren’s fist closes over whatever it is, and he straightens to his full height. 

“No.” He replies, “I’m done. Where’s the file?” 

Hux plucks it out of his pocket and holds it up to Ren. It feels clunky and awkward in his hands, the technology large and outdated. Ren looks at it with the barest hint of interest, and Hux gets the feeling he was asking in order to deflect Hux’s attention from him, rather than from any real sense of curiosity. 

“It will need some work before we are able to extract the data. The file is old and likely corrupt.” He says, though he knows Ren doesn’t care. He chances a look down at Ren’s hand again, but his fingers are still curled tightly around whatever it is that he’s holding there. 

“Fine.” Ren says, flatly, and then pulls his hood back up over his soaking hair. 

They don’t speak at all on the journey back to the Finalizer. Ren leaves first, disappearing almost as soon as they’ve docked again. As he’s leaving, Hux’s eye catches a flash of colour. He pauses, and kneels down to get a closer look. 

Under the bench, is a single lilac petal. Pulling a glove off, he picks it up carefully between his index finger and thumb. There’s still a droplet of rain clinging to the end of it.

*** 

It takes him half a cycle of staring at the petal, sitting forlornly on his desk, before Hux gives up and sends a message to one of the scientists onboard. He rarely has any cause to speak with them – mostly they work alongside the medics and have no need of interaction with the ranking officers – but his curiosity is burning, and he allows himself to cast aside his pride for a moment in order to have a question answered.

The response comes back quickly, Doctor Mayien clearly surprised at Hux’s contact, yet no less willing to carry out any task he sets for her. 

He sends a droid off to the lab with the sample, and throws himself back into work, forcibly keeping his thoughts on the tasks at hand, rather than letting his own curiosity get the better of him. Ren still hasn’t bothered to tell Hux what he was actually doing on Eadu, and despite the history between the two of them – it’s no longer Hux’s place to ask. 

It’s two full cycles before his datapad chimes with the notification he’s been waiting for. 

There is no note introducing her findings, instead, Mayien has sent Hux the details as they are. He squints at the screen, botany having never been an area of interest to him. It appears, by all intents and purposes, to be nothing more than a standard flower. Hux types out a brief message in thank you, and returns to his work. 

When his shift ends, Hux makes his way back to his quarters. He’s half expecting Ren to appear at any moment to annoy him with some menial request or comment, but the newly appointed Supreme Leader is nowhere in sight. Hux hasn’t seen him since they returned from Eadu. This in itself is not unusual, as Ren often goes for several cycles without making himself known to anyone on board. Hux briefly wonders whether Ren’s daily routines have changed now, with his upgrade in rank, or if he still spends his time in the training halls, or meditating in the solitude of his own rooms. 

He pushes the thought away as quickly as it appears. What Ren does with his own time is of no consequence to Hux, and entertaining the very thought is below him. 

Still, when Hux has changed out of his uniform and is reclining at his desk, flask of tea in one hand and his datapad in the other, he can’t help but open the holonet, his curiosity itching at him as he types in the name of the strange lilac flower. 

Nothing remarkable comes up, not even when Hux slyly attempts to research any mystical Force associations that it might have. He clears his history as soon as he’s done, embarrassed at himself for even bothering – but the nagging question persists in his mind, long after he’s dimmed the lights and retired to bed. Why did Ren have the flower in the first place? And why did he try to hide it?

*** 

He’s passing by the training halls with Mitaka when a flashing light catches his eye. He pauses, knowing that there are no ‘troopers scheduled in at this time, though the room is nevertheless in use.

“Sir?” Mitaka asks, having stopped a few paces ahead of him. 

“I will catch up with you later, Lieutenant.” He says, “I have a matter to attend to.” 

He hesitates for a second, then offers him a crisp salute. Hux waits until Mitaka has rounded the corner before punching in the code and stepping back as the doors open. 

As he’d expected, it’s only Ren inside, the rest of the hall empty of personnel and equipment, save for the scant few crash mats piled neatly to one side. Ren never uses them – Hux doesn’t know if it’s from a sense of arrogance or because he genuinely has no need, but he always shoves them to the side when training nevertheless, and Hux has never questioned it. 

Hux watches Ren do ten push ups before clearing his throat, stepping further into the room. 

Ren hesitates at the sound, and glances back over his shoulder. His expression doesn’t change when he sees Hux, he only turns his head back and resumes his count. Hux carefully directs his gaze away from where it threatens to linger, on the defined shape of Ren’s biceps, glistening under a thin sheen of sweat. 

“Did you want something, General?” Ren asks, between reps. 

“I wanted to ask you about any possible mystical associations with flowers.” Hux asks, careful to keep his voice as blank as possible, feeling ridiculous even as the words leave his mouth.

At this, Ren stills, leaning up onto his knees and turning again to look at Hux. There’s a light pink flush covering his shoulders and neck, creeping up across his cheeks. He pushes his hair back from his face. 

“What?” he says, “No.”

“Are you sure?” 

Ren frowns at him as he rises to his full height. Hux suddenly wishes he hadn’t come in; hadn’t let himself stand this close when Ren has so much bare skin on display. 

“Are you questioning my knowledge of the Force?” 

Hux allows himself to sigh, loudly. “No, Ren, I’m not.” 

He’s surprised when Ren fails to correct him – incorrectly addressing a superior is an act of subordination which is punishable, they both know this. Ren only tilts his head to the side. 

“Why do you need to know?” 

Hux knows what it feels like when a force user attempts to look into his mind. He throws up his walls, booting Ren out easily in exactly the way Ren had taught him to, all those years ago. He wonders if Ren regrets that, now that he no longer has such an easy read on Hux’s thoughts and emotions – or if a part of him is proud, that Hux got to be so good at it. 

“A personal matter. You need not concern yourself with it.” He tells him, “I will let you return to your training.” 

Ren’s eyes narrow a fraction, and Hux can tell that he doesn’t believe a word of it, but he offers no argument, just shrugs his shoulders. “As you wish.”

*** 

Despite everything that’s happened, Ren still uses his old quarters. They’re one deck below Hux’s, in a quiet, lesser used part of the ship, the path to which Hux knows innately - he’s made the journey between there and his own often enough. Now that he’s Supreme Leader, Ren has no real need to use these rooms. Has no real need to be aboard the Finalizer at all, considering he has full use of Snoke’s own, presumably luxurious, facilities. Hux wonders what Ren uses them for, if anything.

The code to Ren’s quarters remains unchanged, and Hux finds himself surprised that his fingerprint is still authorised for entry. He doesn’t stay to ponder over it, though, slipping into the room quietly. Ren is planetside on some reconnaissance mission, and is due back any hour. 

“Lights, one hundred percent.” Hux says, as the doors close behind him. 

Ren’s room remains virtually unchanged since Hux was here last – a memory that feels like lifetimes ago. 

It’s sparsely decorated, much like Hux’s own, though Ren has a few personal items - Darth Vader’s mask, a handful of ancient texts, a selection of crystals on one shelf and, last Hux remembered, a tool box and calligraphy set, stored away safely for rare moments when Ren had the time to tinker with metalwork or writing. 

He crosses the room to Ren’s desk, which he knows is rarely used, and hesitates, suddenly unsure of himself. He catches his reflection in the blank screen of Ren’s datapad, and scowls. 

“You’re being ridiculous.” he tells himself, “Sentimental.” and yet - there had been a look, on Ren’s face, that day on Eadu, when he’d held the lilac flower between gloved fingers. It had meant something to him, though Hux doesn’t know what. How well does he know Ren, really, he wonders, if after all this time the other man still leaves him so puzzled. 

Hux looks down at the makeshift vase in his hand; an old, rarely used tea flask he’d brought with him to the Finalizer upon promotion to General. It’s filled up halfway with water, and in it sits a bunch of flowers, their petals a brilliant shade of purple. He had been unable to track down the lilac one Ren had found, but Hux had spotted these on a recent mission, and picked them in a moment where all judgement had left him. They’d sat on his own desk for three full cycles, taunting him, before he’d decided that enough was enough. He’d deliver them to Ren’s rooms and say nothing.

Carefully, he sets the bouquet down in the centre of the desk, the colour of them stark against the silver and black colour scheme of the rest of the ship. Surely, they will be the first thing Ren sees when he returns to his rooms. 

Hux turns to leave, but another flash of colour catches his eye. He pauses, eyes narrowing on a book propped up on the shelf with the others. He’s never paid them much attention before - he’s dismissed them as mystical nonsense often enough - but this one has something pink sticking out from between the pages, and Hux can’t ignore the spike of curiosity he feels upon looking. He crosses over to it, carefully lifting it from its place. 

The cover is worn, most of the lettering faded away with age, though from what he can see, Hux knows it isn’t in basic. This is not much surprise, Hux is well aware that Ren is multi-lingual, two of his languages being Binary and Shyriiwook, and so Hux thumbs it open. 

The pages inside are yellowed, covered in text and carefully inked drawings of plants from several different systems, but that isn’t what catches Hux’s eye. No; it’s the flowers themselves. Hundreds of them, so many that the pages are bulging, pressed carefully between the sheets of paper. They vary in colour and shape, seeming to correspond with the drawings on each page. The latter half of the book is empty of flowers, the last entry holding the same lilac flower that Ren had picked and then hidden away, now dried and tucked between the pages of this strange book. 

Hux touches it gently, afraid that it will crumble beneath his fingers. It seems to stare back at him, taunting him with this secret part of Ren that, until this day, Hux has remained ignorant to. 

He turns the page, eyeing the next illustration. It’s a flower he’s never seen before, the illustration itself devoid of colour, though the shape is striking enough. He commits the title of the page to memory, strange and unknown though the language is, and is about to look further when his datapad chimes twice from his coat pocket, an incoming notification. 

He uses his free hand to extract it, thumbing the message open. It’s been forwarded on by a hangar officer; Ren’s shuttle arriving back early, landing permission granted. 

Hux swears. He shoves the datapad away again, and returns the book to its place upon the shelf, careful not to disturb anything else. 

He needs to be on the bridge when Ren boards. Anything else will appear unusual. 

With one last glance at the arrangement left on Ren’s desk, Hux orders the lights to zero percent, and leaves. As per procedure, he must meet Ren in the hangar. He knows that Ren cares little for military protocol; doesn’t appreciate Hux’s being there to greet him as the Supreme Leader at all, but Ren’s complete lack of care isn’t an excuse for standards to be lowered, and Hux would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t worry – just a little – every time Ren went away. 

He’s antsy for more reasons than usual this time, his mind going back to the flowers on Ren’s desk as he makes his way to the hangar. It was a stupid decision, but a part of him is still hopeful that the gesture will be appreciated, seeing as Ren seems to have some sort of personal interest in them. 

Ren’s shuttle lands smoothly, the gangway lowered with a hiss of steam and hydraulics, and a moment later Ren himself arrives, his tunic bloodied and torn, dark purple shadows beneath his eyes. He looks absolutely exhausted. 

Hux takes a step forward. “Call a medic to hangar five, immediately.” He orders the nearest stormtrooper, but Ren holds up a hand to stop him. 

“Unnecessary.” 

Hux turns to him. “Supreme Leader. You are injured.” He says, wishing that he didn’t care, disguising it as nothing more than professionalism, “It would be wise to go to the medbay and receive appropriate treatment.” 

Ren attempts to step past him without replying, but Hux catches him by the wrist, knowing, as he does it, that it oversteps the line completely. He hasn’t touched Ren in months, and even now, with two layers of fabric between their skin, it feels too much, the touch charged with some kind of tension. Hux pushes past it. 

“Ren.” He says, low enough that only the two of them can hear, “Please.” 

This close, he can smell the coppery tang of blood, combined with a dirty, earthy scent that clings to the fabric of Ren’s clothes. If Ren isn’t careful, his wounds – whatever they are – will quickly become infected. 

He is levelled with a look sharp enough to sting, but Hux remains firm. Ren’s lip curls, but he pulls his wrist from Hux’s grip, and acquiesces. Hux follows him to the medbay, silent on his heels. Ren’s gait is fast, though from behind Hux is easily able to notice that he walks with a stiffness that indicates significant injury. A thousand scenarios flash through his head – _what if, what if, what if_ – but he pushes them aside. Worrying is wasted energy. Ren has survived worse. 

Once seated on the edge of a table, Ren is instructed to remove his outermost layers and tunic in order for the medic to properly examine him. He obliges, albeit grudgingly, and shoots Hux a look of utter contempt over the medic’s shoulder as she carefully examines Ren’s bruised ribs with gloved hands. 

She announces two cracked ribs, and otherwise superficial injuries. These will scar, but Hux wonders what a few more will be to Ren, who wears his own failure on his face for all to see. 

When she leaves to collect Ren’s prescription of painkillers, Hux steps forward. “What happened down there?” he asks. 

“We were ambushed.” Ren says, sitting back and letting out a hiss of pain. The skin across his ribs is mottled with dark purple bruising, and looks tender. “Resistance sympathisers. I’m fine.” 

“Your injuries say otherwise.” Hux tells him, “Were there any casualties?” 

Ren lets his head thump back against the wall, exposing the lone line of his throat. Here, Hux can study the true extent of the damage done by the resistance girl, the scar from Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber curling across Ren’s shoulder, the skin around his hip raised and off-colour from the Wookiee bowcaster. 

“Only six. We took the least of the damage.” 

Hux nods. He will need to register the casualties, when he returns to the bridge. For now, he allows himself to be glad that Ren wasn’t among them. “Well.” He says, “You should take a couple of cycles off duty to rest. It would be prudent to put your health first.” 

Ren starts to laugh, but sucks in a sharp inhale when the movement hurts him. “I didn’t realise,” he says, half wheezing, “That you were a qualified medic.” 

Before Hux can reply, the medic is back, and Hux excuses himself, his worries quelled only slightly. Ren isn’t gravely wounded, but he is historically bad at taking care of his own injuries. He goes straight to the bridge, relieving Captain Peavey of the command. 

Peavey salutes upon seeing Hux. 

“General, Sir.” He says. 

Hux nods. “At ease, Captain.” He turns to look over the officers at work. “Anything to report?” 

Peavey mirrors his stance, settled into a parade rest at Hux’s side. Hux despises the man, knowing that his feelings are shared. Peavey never was able to get over the fact that Hux had risen above him in rank so young, and it showed in his every word and expression. Hux will dispose of him, in time. 

“No, Sir.” Peavey replies. He shifts on his feet, clearing his throat a little. “I see that Lord – ah, that the Supreme Leader has returned early from his mission.” 

Hux narrows his eyes, but keeps his gaze straight ahead, refusing to give Peavey the satisfaction of his undivided attention. “Your observations are astute, Captain.” 

Peavey sniffs. “Permission to give my opinion, Sir.” 

“Denied, Captain.” Hux says, turning finally to fix Peavey with a cool glare, “You will curb your attitude where Supreme Leader Ren is concerned, of else find yourself on the receiving end of disciplinary action. Am I understood?” 

Peavey visibly bristles, but gives a stiff nod. “Yes, Sir.”

Hux turns away again, folding his hands behind his back. “Dismissed.”

***

The medic had advised Ren to take at least six cycles off from his duties to allow for the bacta treatment to repair his injuries – but by the third, Hux sees Ren up and about again, striding onto the bridge. He still looks ill, his skin off colour, his gait awkward to those who know it well enough to notice, but there’s a look of grim determination on his face, and Hux pities the medic who’ll have to speak with him next.

Hux is in the middle of a conversation with another officer when Ren comes to a halt beside them, his hands curled into fists. 

“General.” He says, cutting in. 

The officer – a low ranking Cadet, barely twenty years old – jumps as if he’s been slapped, peering up at Ren, who towers over him, with wide, nervous eyes. 

“Supreme Leader.” Hux says, turning his head to acknowledge Ren, before looking back at the officer. “Dismissed, Cadet Almach.” 

Almach leaves with a shaky salute, leaving Hux free to give Ren his attention. 

“You should be resting.” Hux tells him. 

He wonders what Ren’s done with the flowers, if they’re still sitting in their vase on his desk, or if he’s taken some of them for his book.

“My time was being wasted.” He says, “There was –”

When he fails to finish the sentence, Hux raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Supreme Leader?” 

Ren gives him a strange, lingering look. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, looking out of one of the viewports, “We’re making no progress tracking the Resistance.” 

“What do you think I’m working on?” Hux says, just short of snapping. “I haven’t been standing here idly this whole time, Ren.” 

“I need to do it. I should be able to sense their location.” 

Hux raises an eyebrow. Some things, at least, never change. Ren’s melodrama when it comes to the Force is one of them. “Well? Can you? Any information you are able to provide would be of great help, Supreme Leader.” 

A muscle jumps in Ren’s jaw, and his chest rises on a deep inhale. “No.” He says, voice so quiet that Hux has to strain to hear it over the noise of the bridge staff working. “I don’t understand – I should be stronger now. But the girl – she’s so strong with the Force. She’s doing something, blocking me out.” 

The utter anguish in Ren’s expression when Hux opens his mouth to retort has the words dying in his throat. How much easier it had been to fall back on acerbic insults when he couldn’t see Ren’s face, when the anger over their degrading relationship had still been fresh. 

He hesitates, then, voice soft, “We’ll find them.” He says, with conviction, and Ren turns to look at him, surprised, “They cannot hide from us.” 

 

Ren’s lip twitches almost imperceptibly, and Hux thinks he might be trying to smile. “Thank you, General.” 

For a moment, Hux feels like it’s just the two of them standing there on the bridge. He remembers when it used to be like that, always – he and Ren, against the universe. 

A much younger Hux had fantasized about that, once. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Ren in the throne room, their secret carefully shielded away from Snoke, he had allowed his mind to wander. What if it were the two of them up there, the galaxy bowed at their feet? It had been dismissed quickly as a foolish notion, and locked away somewhere in the back of his mind. He had no idea of Ren had ever known. It surely doesn’t look that way now, when Ren himself is seated at the head of the galaxy and Hux still so far beneath him, grovelling, like he’d done with Snoke for so long. 

He should hate Ren for all he’s done, all the ruin he’s brought to Hux’s carefully structured life – but he can’t bring himself to, not fully. 

Hux clears the lump forming in his throat, forces himself to return the smile, despite knowing that Ren will see right through it. “Of course, Supreme Leader.” He says, wishing Ren would stop looking at him with such intensity. “We will do everything in our power to crush the Resistance once and for all.” 

This, at least, he can say without lying right through his teeth. He hates the Resistance on more than just principle. This vendetta against them has stolen Ren away from him for too long, and he would slaughter the lot of them with his bare hands if it only meant Ren would look at him again, the way he used to. 

“Be certain that you do.” Is all Ren says, before turning away. In his absence, Hux feels like he can breathe again.

*** 

It isn’t his intention to leave Ren more gifts – but when Hux accompanies a squadron of Stormtroopers on a planetside training exercise and comes across a small, overgrown patch of yellow flowers, he pauses.

A quick look over his shoulder confirms that the nearest ‘trooper isn’t looking in his direction. He could easily pick a few of them and hide them in his coat without being seen. 

Hux sighs. “I cannot believe,” he mutters to himself, squatting down and carefully selecting a few of the flowers, making sure that the petals are undamaged, “That I am actually doing this.” 

They seem to stare back at him, mocking, as he twirls the stems between his fingers. Would Ren like these, he wonders. He doesn’t even know if Ren kept the last ones he’d left. 

“General Hux, Sir.” A modulated voice catches him off guard, and he makes his snap decision, carefully pocketing the flowers and straightening back up as he turns around. The Stormtrooper that had been standing guard is now turned to face him. 

“Yes, Trooper,” he replies, rolling his shoulders back and settling into an authoritative stance. 

“Mission is completed. UT-459 requesting permission to return to the shuttle.” 

They had been a lot quicker than he’d expected, Hux realises. This is a good thing – their training has progressed quickly, even without Captain Phasma here to personally oversee it. 

“Granted.” Hux says, with a nod, picking his way across the dirt underfoot. 

The flowers are left again in Ren’s quarters in his absence, and Hux forces himself not to look for the previous bouquet. If Ren had disliked them, surely Hux would have found this out by now. The bouquet of yellow flowers is followed by a selection of white ones, then a deep burgundy, and a flash of vibrant orange. Hux isn’t sure which colours Ren prefers, if any, and so he keeps the selection as varied as he can, always terrified that Ren will catch him in the act, not knowing how he’ll explain himself if that ever happens. 

Not for the first time, Hux feels Phasma’s absence keenly, not only in a professional capacity, but a personal one, too. She was the closest thing Hux had to a friend, and with her gone, he feels almost lost, with no one now to offer him a friendly ear or piece of advice, or to simply spend time with to unwind off duty. 

Hux’s relationship with Ren had never been that easy. Things with Phasma were uncomplicated, no strings attached. They simply enjoyed one another’s company, and respected each other professionally. Ren, on the other hand, had penetrated deep into Hux’s soul, and there’s no way now to cut him out. Not for the first time, Hux wonders what his Mother would have said to him, if she knew about Ren. 

_“You’re in love, Amitage,”_ he hears her say, in the gentle lilt of her voice. The few memories he has of her involve sitting on her knee, being read stories of warriors and lovers, her work-rough hands a comforting touch as he’d listened, enraptured. She might have been proud of him, for finding someone. Disappointed, maybe, that he and Ren had ruined it all so thoroughly. 

He doesn’t have to wonder what his Father might have thought. Brendol Hux believed that relationships were for nothing more than the purpose of procreation, because the Empire needed children, and whatever he’d seen in Hux’s Mother was forgotten about as soon as her child was born, the pawn Brendol needed to further his plans. 

Hux leaves the bouquet on Ren’s desk, as always, sighing as he runs his fingers along them. “I’m sorry.” He says, wondering if Ren knows.

*** 

It could only last so long before something boiled over. Hux is in his office, sat before his datapad, the bridge of his nose pinched between thumb and forefinger. It’s been a trying shift – a weapons deal gone wrong on one of the Outer Rim planets means Hux has had to deploy another squadron of Stormtroopers to deal with it.

The last thing he needs is Ren barging in, unannounced, and looming over him, both hands planted on the desk, either side of Hux’s datapad. “What happened down there?” he demands, apropos of nothing. 

Hux lets out a slow exhale, before looking up. “Supreme Leader.” He intones, feeling a muscle under his eye twitching a little in annoyance. He mentally curses himself for ever having hoped that the old Ren – his Ren – was still under there, somewhere. “It’s customary to announce your presence, before barging into someone’s private rooms.” 

“Lock your door then.” Ren snaps. “The First Order was just humiliated –” 

Hux holds up a hand.

“You want to talk about humiliation, Ren?” He stands up, his chair scraping back across the floor. “Lets talk about how _you_ have humiliated _me_. I’ve been silent on this for too long. There was no excuse for what you did. Not one. Do you have any idea how disgraced you left me? How hurt I might possibly have been? Of course you don’t. You refuse to think about anything beyond your own selfishness. I shouldn’t even be surprised at you charging in here to chastise me on something that was outwith my control when you refuse to address your own failures.”

He pulls the glove off his right hand, bringing it up to rub across his eyes again. He’s exhausted, emotionally and physically, in the kind of bone-deep way that sleep won’t cure. Ren just stares at him, eyes like liquid gold, and Hux refuses to meet them, doesn’t want to know what emotion might lie there now, if he looked. 

“I know.” Ren says, surprising him. 

At this, Hux does look up. “What?” 

Ren takes a breath, chest rising, and slowly exhales it. “I said I know. I’m sorry –”

“Don’t you dare.” Hux interrupts him again, his whole body suddenly overcome with an uncharacteristic rage. He’s angry now – so, so angry – and it’s been festering in him for too long. “Don’t you dare look me in the eye and apologise now, not when you’ve carelessly thrown me around in front of my own crew and _choked me_ –”

Ren steps around the desk, right into his personal space. To anyone else, it would be daunting, Ren’s build making him far more physically imposing, despite the mere inches between their heights, but Hux stands his ground, back straight, as Ren’s lip curls. 

“What do you want me to say, Hux? Is nothing I do good enough for you?” 

Before he knows what he’s doing, Hux is shoving Ren back, both hands pressed firm against the other man’s chest, his glove fallen carelessly to the ground. “I want things to go back to how they were before!” he shouts, “I’m sick of the distance between us. The lies, the evasion – all of it. Don’t you understand, Ren? I can’t bear it!” 

Ren is warm and solid beneath his bare hand, the material of his tunic scratchy and rough against Hux’s skin. The touch is too much after so many months of abstinence, and Hux has to snatch his hands away as quick as he’d shot them out. The gesture has the desired effect, though – Ren takes one step backwards, eyes wide. He hadn’t seen that coming. 

He swallows, adams apple bobbing against the dark fabric of his cowl, and a look of realisation crosses his face as he stares at Hux. 

“The flowers.” He says, “Did you –”

“I don’t have time for this.” Hux snaps, bending to collect his glove from the desk. He pulls it back on, hands trembling with adrenaline, and fixes the rumpled cuffs of his sleeves. He can feel a blush creeping up his neck, and he won’t let Ren see it. “If that’s all, Supreme Leader, I will be on my way.”

“Don’t do this,” Ren says, as Hux starts towards the door. It opens smoothly for him, sliding out of the way. “Hux!” 

The door slides back into place before Ren has the chance to say anything else, and Hux strides down the corridor, quick footsteps echoing after him. His heart is hammering, and he silently begs for it to slow, for the heat in his cheeks to cool before somebody sees him. 

He half expects to find Ren running after him, to do something stupid like catch Hux by the forearm and spin him around, press him up against the durasteel walls. He’s done it before, when they were younger and things hadn’t felt quite so dire between them. Ren had always been arrogant, thinking that all their problems could be solved by manhandling Hux into a kiss, or an embrace. Hux had eventually stopped pretending that he didn’t love it – despite what the rational part of his brain told him. 

Of course Ren would find out. Hux knew he would, sooner or later. Where else would the stupid flowers have come from?

*** 

He successfully manages to avoid Ren for seven whole cycles, keeping himself busy with work, though he still manages to find the time to leave another bouquet, despite his better judgement. He knows it can’t last, and the moment comes when Hux enters the viewing deck late one cycle after the end of his shift, running a hand back through to free his hair of it’s stiffness, wanting nothing more than to relax.

As his luck would have it, the deck is already occupied. Ren is sitting in the far side, below the stretch of sky visible from the viewports. His hands are bare, gloves nowhere to be seen, and between his fingers, he’s holding one of the flowers from Hux’s most recent gift, thumb worrying over the stem. Hux watches him for a couple of moments, before making his way across. He stops a few feet away, settling into a comfortable parade rest, and looks out at the stars, waiting for Ren to acknowledge him. 

The tension that’s been building between them for the past few months seems to have dissipated, somehow, the air feeling lighter, the weight gone from Hux’s shoulders. Ren’s whole demeanour has shifted, at least in this moment – he’s not on guard, something in his mood softened. 

“Thank you.” Ren says, eventually. It’s not a phrase that often leaves his mouth, and Hux turns to him, blinking, as he looks at the man sitting on the floor by his feet. 

“What for?” 

Ren is still gazing down at the flower, twirling it between his fingers now. A loose petal falls, drifts slowly to the floor. 

“For these.” He says, tapping it with the tip of one finger, “The gifts. I know that it was you.” 

Hux shifts on his feet. “Yes.” He says, “Well.” 

He isn’t sure if the smile in Ren’s voice is his own imagination. “Go ahead and ask. I can feel you’re burning to know.” 

Hux pauses, weighing up his options. He has no shame to lose in asking – not when Ren already knows that Hux has been leaving him flowers for months now. “What do they mean to you?” he asks, “I found the book in your quarters. I thought it might help me understand.”

Finally, Ren turns to look up at him. The expression on his face is one Hux has never seen before – calm, almost wistful. It makes him look older, wiser, far from the doe-eyed boy Hux had first laid eyes on when Snoke had introduced them. How easily Hux had dismissed the young apprentice that day, not knowing just how intricately their paths would intertwine over the years to come. He could never have imagined that he’d be standing here in this moment, after everything the two of them have been through – loving and losing one another, the destruction of Starkiller, Han Solo’s death, and now the death of Snoke – he wonders if Ren had ever forseen it himself. 

Ren seems to consider his words carefully before he speaks. 

“When I was first sent to Luke’s temple, I had never felt more alone. He and I were never close, and being sent there felt like a punishment.” He pauses, turning to look up at their backdrop of stars, “My – there was a book. I found it, before I left, when I was packing. The Jedi discourage sentimentality and materialism – many of my belongings I never saw again, but the book was amongst my Mother’s things. I could tell it had been a family heirloom, it was wrapped in cloth from Alderaan. It annoyed me, that she was allowed to keep items that meant something to her when I was allowed nothing more than the clothes on my back and my lightsaber. I stole it, and hid it amongst my things. It was a decision made on a whim. But. I started reading it, and the illustrations were so beautiful.” He tails off, glancing at the flower in his hand. “I realise that it’s stupid.”

“It’s – not.” 

Ren throws him a mildly disbelieving look, but continues. “There were pressed flowers, in the first page. The only thing left of Alderaan.” He huffs a little laugh, dry and without humour, “I didn’t start collecting my own until years later. When Luke’s temple burned down, it was one of the only things I took with me. It’s all I have from my life before. It helps to ground me, when I need to focus.” 

It’s almost amusing, that the feared master of the Knights of Ren, the now Supreme Leader, has a secret love of flowers, but Hux understands. He thinks of his Mother, alone and desperate to see her son – to love him – and his Father, cold and aloof, his own son nothing more than a tool to be utilised or cast aside. The memories he has of his Mother are few and far between, but he holds them to his chest like a lifeline. 

“I understand.” He says, half hating how soft the words come out. 

Ren snorts. “Don’t mock me, Hux.” 

“I’m not.” Hux lowers himself to a crouch, refusing to sit on the floor, but wanting to be at eye level with Ren nevertheless. Standing above the Supreme Leader is bad etiquette anyway, though he doubts Ren cares much for that, now. “Ren. Look at me,” 

“You have quite the aversion to using my correct honorifics, don’t you?” Ren asks, the hint of a smile in his voice. He refuses to turn, hair still concealing most of his expression. 

Hux bristles despite the light tone. “Apologies, Supreme Leader.” He grits out, the words heavy on his tongue. 

Now, Ren does lift his head. “No,” he says, “You can call me Ren. If you want. It’s – I like it.” 

The question leaves him before he has the chance to stop it, “Why?” 

“It reminds me of before.” Ren answers him, simply, as if the words mean nothing. To Hux, it feels as though he has been plunged into ice water, his heart stopping briefly within his chest as he processes the words. He knows what Ren means. He _knows_ , but it can’t be. Ren has barely looked at him since, and surely all of his feelings – if there ever were any to begin with – are long extinguished, unlike the small fire burning, even now, in the caverns of Hux’s heart. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” Hux says, swallowing hard. 

“I’m not.” Ren looks terribly sincere, and the expression on his face – the sheer earnestness – is too much. Hux straightens out from his crouch, takes a deliberate step back, shoulders squared. He’s thankful for his greatcoat, for the emotional armour it provides him. At his sudden movement, Ren blinks, alarmed. “Hux –”

“I have duties that must be attended to.” He cuts in. “Excuse me.” 

He doesn’t wait for a response before turning, making a beeline for the doors and the blissful quiet of the corridor beyond. The air feels oppressive all of a sudden, weighted down with emotion, and Hux can’t tell if that’s Ren’s doing or his own reaction to the sudden turn in conversation. He wouldn’t dare have done this to Snoke – turned his back, been so blatantly insubordinate – but he had no history with Snoke. And Ren loved him, once, Hux knows this as innately as he knows his own name. 

A strong hand wraps around his bicep moments before he reaches out to activate the doors, stilling him in his tracks. Hux whirls around, an insult ready in his throat, but it dies as soon as he sets his eyes on Ren’s face. 

“Hux.” Ren says again, his voice low. 

“You should have kept that stupid mask.” Hux tells him, trying hard to focus on anything other than the feeling of Ren’s bare hand on him. He feels suddenly smaller, even in all his layers. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Ren’s skin touched his, doesn’t want to know. It’s too much. 

Like a curious dog, Ren cocks his head in an unspoken question. 

“Surely you know what you’re doing with that ridiculous face of yours.” He says, by way of explanation. “Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” Ren steps closer, the toes of their boots almost touching. 

“Your stupid hangdog look.” Hux says. He’d said something similar once before, chastising Ren’s melancholy following an early meeting with Snoke. He had no idea just how cruel the former Supreme Leader could be to his apprentice, had assumed the sulking quietness that followed was all part of Ren’s dramatics. 

“That’s not why you want me to wear the mask.” Ren says. 

Hux bristles, tries to pull away, but Ren’s grip is unyielding. “Don’t presume to know my feelings –”

“But I do.” Ren says, “You forget how well I know you. You’re selfish. You want me all to yourself and you hate that everyone has seen my face, now, because it no longer belongs to you, and only you.” 

This time, when Hux pulls at Ren’s grip, he’s freed, stumbling backwards a few steps with the force of it. He takes a deep breath. “How _dare_ you.” He spits, “How dare you walk around, dredging up the past as though it’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing. Not to you. _Not to me_!” Ren’s expression is wrought with some emotion Hux has no name for. “I thought everything was different. I thought I’d ruined things beyond all repair – but then you started leaving flowers for me! How was I supposed to interpret that?” 

They’re both shouting, and Hux’s heart hammers in his chest. Surely someone will overhear them. The viewing deck is open to any high-ranking officers when off duty, there’s any chance one of them might happen along the corridor at any moment. 

“You can think whatever you wish.” Hux snaps, trying to bring his voice under control. “It’s none of my concern.” 

Ren shakes his head, seeming to deflate. “I know you.” He says. “You still love me.” 

The words sink to his stomach like a heavy stone, and Hux feels weighted down by the truth of them. Of course Ren knows. He knows Hux like the back of his hand, knows the workings of his mind even more intricately. 

“I refuse to have this conversation now.” Hux deflects, seeing no other way out. 

Ren steps closer again, and this time Hux lets him. 

“We don’t need to talk about it right now.” He says, and Hux watches him, pulse racing, as he lifts his hand, slowly, as if approaching a wild beast, and gently cradles the side of Hux’s neck, fingers brushing over the place where bruises had been left, not so long ago. His touch burns, and Hux swallows hard, throat bobbing under Ren’s touch. 

“Ren.” He says, his voice coming out as nothing more than a whisper. 

Ren bridges the gap between them, his hand a warm pressure against the side of Hux’s throat as their lips meet in a kiss. It’s chaste, soft, everything the two of them will never be, and it isn’t enough. Not after all this time Hux has spent waiting, feeling Ren’s absence from his side like a knife in his heart. 

He moves, fingers tightly gripping the fabric of Ren’s tunic and pulling him closer, till the lines of their bodies are slotted together. Ren draws his head back, a question forming on his lips, but Hux shakes his head. 

“Shut up.” he says, and kisses Ren again, this time with no hesitation. It’s rough, open mouthed, their teeth clacking together and catching on the tender skin of lips, but Hux doesn’t care. Nothing else seems to matter, save for the way Ren is kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, his free hand travelling down to grip at Hux’s backside, fingers tight enough to bruise. 

“You have no idea,” Hux says against Ren’s mouth, “How desperate I’ve been. No idea what you do to me, you insufferable oaf.” 

Ren’s smirking, teasing Hux’s lower lip between his teeth before releasing it. “Is that any way to talk to your superior, Grand Admiral?” 

Hux stills against him. Ren cannot be serious. But when Hux looks at his face, he finds only honesty, pupils so dark they nearly obscure all colour in his irises. 

“You don’t mean it.” Hux says. His fingers tighten on Ren’s clothes, the leather of his gloves creaking as it bunches between his knuckles. 

“Yes, I do. You were meant for greater things, Hux.” Ren says, and his hands soften, a thumb brushing over the curve of Hux’s cheekbone. 

There are so many feelings coursing through him that they threaten to overflow. Hux settles for pulling his gloves off hastily, and taking Ren’s face between his bare hands, and kissing him again with every ounce of emotion in his body. 

Ren kisses back, allowing Hux to walk them backward until Ren’s thighs hit the low sofa in front of the viewports, and he stumbles, landing on it heavily and pulling Hux down with him. Hux shrugs out of his greatcoat, letting Ren toss it over the side of the armrest before his hands return to Hux immediately, slipping beneath the fabric of his tunic and finding bare skin. 

“I missed this.” Ren says, as Hux begins to remove the tunic, needing more of Ren’s hands on him. He leans against the back of the sofa, watching Hux undress with hungry eyes. Hux folds the tunic and places it beside the coat as Ren’s warm hands skate across his hips. 

“You’re the one who distanced himself.” Hux replies, shifting closer, hands braced on either side of Ren’s head. His hair is splayed out on the leather like some dark halo, framing his features. 

“You blamed me for Starkiller.” Ren says, “You hated me. You wanted to kill me, after the loss of Snoke.” 

Hux wonders if Ren knows that Hux doesn’t believe his version of events for an instant. He knows Ren killed Snoke, that the girl escaped with her life again. He doesn’t voice this, now isn’t the time. 

“Emotions were never straightforward between the two of us, Ren.” he says, and dips his head, catching the underside of Ren’s jaw with his teeth. Ren lets out a low groan, pulling Hux flush against him as he rolls his hips. 

“I hated you.” Ren tells him, even as he’s working a hand down the back of Hux’s breeches, “When we first met. Do you remember?” 

Hux pushes back into his touch. “Yes. I thought you were a brat.” he says, smiling against Ren’s skin. 

“And then,” he continues, grunting as Hux slips a hand down to tug at the waistband of his leggings, needing Ren to shed some of his own layers, “You fell hopelessly in love with me.” He tugs his tunic off as Hux sits back, one hand gripping the fabric of his leggings, watching hungrily at every exposed inch of skin. 

Ren drops the fabric carelessly over the back of the sofa, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Speak for yourself,” Hux quips, giving Ren’s thigh a light slap as he tugs at the leggings again, indicating for Ren to lift his hips to slide the fabric off more easily. Ren kicks them off, along with his boots, and runs a hand up Hux’s spine. 

“Shut up,” Ren growls, pulling him in by the back of the neck, “And come here.” 

“Ren,” Hux says, between kisses, as Ren’s hand resumes its path into Hux’s breeches, inching beneath the waistband of his underwear, “The door. It’s unlocked.” 

He’s suddenly struck by the fear that someone could walk in, some unsuspecting officer, looking to relax after a long shift, happening upon the two of them here. It would just be Hux’s luck that Peavey would be the one to arrive, find them both in a compromising position. 

“Relax,” Ren says, nipping at the sensitive skin underneath Hux’s jaw. He waves a hand lazily over his shoulder, and the control panel on the door beeps twice, “No one will be interrupting us any time soon.” 

Hux stands, pushing himself up off Ren’s chest so that he can kick off his boots and work his breeches down over his hips, stepping out of them hurriedly. Ren sits forward, catching him by the hipbones, his hands unbearably gentle as they slide his underwear down over his thighs, exposing his cock. He’s so painfully hard, and Ren teases him further by leaning in, pressing a trail of open mouthed kisses down the vee of his hips, lingering on his inner thigh. 

“Ren.” Hux gasps, fisting a hand in Ren’s hair. 

Ren glances up at him from beneath his lashes, eyes dark. 

“Don’t be gentle.” Hux says, knuckles white, “Please. I can’t stand it.” 

He doesn’t need telling twice. Ren’s teeth are sharp when he sinks them into the flesh of Hux’s thigh, enough to draw blood. Hux cries out, tailing off into a moan, when Ren drags him forward onto his lap, his erection pressing against the firm muscle of Ren’s chest.

Hux barely notices as Ren spits on his hand, reaches it around to grip at Hux’s backside. 

“The flowers,” he says, nose pressed against Hux’s shoulder as he looks over it, working a spit – slicked finger into his ass. It should be disgusting - it _is_ disgusting, unsanitary – but Hux can’t bring himself to care, and it’s not the first time they’ve done it this way, without proper lubricant. His mind supplies him with a handful of memories, of their first few times together, hurried and awkward, crowded into supply closets or shuttle cockpits, and he groans, clings onto Ren more tightly. 

His brain takes him a moment to process that Ren has spoken at all. 

“What?” he asks, grunting as he shifts the angle of his hips, a silent plea for Ren to push deeper.

Ren obliges, his free hand pressing bruises into Hux’s side. “The flowers.” he repeats, muffled slightly against Hux’s skin, “They all have meanings. Did you know?” 

“You ass.” Hux says, smacking a hand against Ren’s shoulder, “I asked you –”

Ren pushes a third finger in, and Hux cuts off his sentence with a low, drawn out moan. It’s been so long. Far too long. His head falls forward, thumping against Ren’s collarbone. 

“No,” Ren replies, and he’s starting to sound breathless now, Hux realises, “You asked me if they had anything to do with the Force. They don’t, its –” he pauses, huffing a little laugh as Hux rocks down on his fingers again, uncaring of how desperate he might seem, “It’s associations. Sentimental ones. Where I’m from – you give your loved ones flowers, and they carry different messages.” 

“Sentimental?” Hux echoes, and then grunts, “Your cock.” he says, impatiently, “I need –”

Ren pulls his fingers out, and for a moment Hux aches with the loss. Both of Ren hands go to his hips, guiding him down onto his cock. How he’s missed this, Hux thinks – teeth sinking into his lower lip as Ren bottoms out – how right it feels to have Ren inside him. He has to take a moment to breathe, feels like he’s seeing stars in the edges of his vision. 

“Fuck.” he says, and wants to slap Ren for the arrogant look he receives in return. He shifts, trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion, “So – tell me, what messages have I unwittingly left for you?” 

“The yellow ones,” Ren says, experimentally rolling his hips, pulling an answering whine from Hux’s throat, “Are for fidelity.” 

Hux barks out a wild laugh, gripping onto Ren’s hair with one hand as he pushes back against the motion, trying to find a rhythm. “And did you take that as a good sign?” he asks, breathless now, “Did you read into it?” 

“I didn’t have to.” 

_Damn him_ , Hux thinks, because he’s right. He hasn’t looked at a single other person since they met, and Ren knows it. 

“I wanted you.” Hux says, and he’s found his rhythm now, rocking down in time with Ren’s thrusts, every motion sending a hot spark of pleasure right up his spine, “All this time. Did you know? Did you understand just how desperate I was? It was pathetic, Ren, but I couldn’t – fuck – I didn’t know how –”

“Yes.” Ren replies, his hands gripping Hux by the arse to angle him better, pull him closer. 

“Fuck you.” Hux says, without venom. He’s already too wrecked to be truly angry. “You could have said something.” 

“I told you – I thought you hated me. You did hate me – I couldn’t get a proper read on you, your walls were too strong.” 

Hux allows himself to smirk at this. “You taught me.” 

“I did.” 

Ren’s looking up at him with a mixture of lust and awe, and Hux swears as one of Ren’s hands slides around to fist his cock; his palm rough, warm, familiar. “What about the others?” Hux gasps.

Ren seems lost, blinking up at him. “The others?”

“The other flowers.” 

Ren’s head is tipped back against the sofa, exposing the long, pale length of his throat. Hux wants to sink his teeth into it, claim every inch of skin as his own. If Ren must be exposed to the galaxy then let them see who it is he truly belongs to. _He’s always been mine_ , Hux thinks, possessively, _since the day we met_. Ren never belonged to Snoke, not truly.

“White, for beauty and innocence,” Ren gasps out, “Pink, for – fuck, Hux – pink for honour. The lilac ones were for gratitude. And the red ones –” he cuts himself off with a low moan, the sound going straight to Hux’s cock, still in Ren’s hand. Hux digs his nails, sharp, into the flesh of Ren’s shoulder. 

“What do the red ones mean?” he asks, needing to know. Ren had held them, so gentle in his hands. Hux has never seen him so tender with anything in all the time they’ve known each other. 

“Romantic love.”

Hux kisses him. He doesn’t know what else to do. Ren responds immediately, his lips eager against Hux’s own. It’s messy, uncoordinated, but Hux doesn’t care – it’s perfect. Ren is perfect. 

He can feel himself getting close, and he grips on tighter, fingers tight in Ren’s wild mane of hair. “Ren,” he says, “Kylo. I’m going to –”

Whether Ren anticipates what he’s about to say, or just instinctively knows, somehow, the way he seems to know everything, Hux isn’t sure, but suddenly he’s turning, flipping Hux onto his back along the length of the sofa, the leather cold against Hux’s sweat-slick skin, and driving into him with short, shallow thrusts, elbows braced either side of Hux’s face. Hux fights to keep his eyes open, wanting to look at Ren for as long as possible. He’s missed this more than he can say, the familiar weight of Ren above him, how his face looks when he’s in the midst of pleasure, all of it. He’ll never get enough. 

Ren leans in, presses their foreheads together, and suddenly Hux feels him everywhere – in his mind, his heart, to the very depths of his bones. It’s too much, like everything Ren ever does is too much, and Hux cries out, gripping him tighter, forcing him deeper. Every sensation is doubled; he’s seeing himself from the outside, he realises, feeling everything as Ren does. He’s overwhelmed by the surge of pure adoration that crashes into him, and he finally screws his eyes shut, unable to look at Ren’s face for another second, terrified of what truth his eyes might reveal.

The air around him is too heavy, suffocating.

An image blooms across his mind. He and Ren, side by side, the universe at their heels. Ren is bloody, battle-ragged, Hux dressed in ceremonial whites, not a hair out of place. It takes him a moment to realise that Ren is projecting his own fantasy right back at him, perfect to the last detail. 

_I know._ Ren’s voice says, inside his head. _I can see your dreams. Do you want to see mine?_

“Please.” Hux whimpers, practically begging. 

_He’s in a field, twin suns burning how on his back. A breeze blows through the long grass, brushing lightly against his cape. When he looks up, Ren is approaching him, carrying something in one hand, though Hux cannot yet see what it is. He stops only a foot away, before dropping suddenly to one knee. The hand raises._

_He’s holding a skull. It looks recently skinned, still stained with the blood of whomever it had belonged to. Ren drops it on the grass. It rolls, landing at Hux’s feet, grinning up at him._

_“I’d slaughter the galaxy for you.” Ren promises._

_Through the eye sockets, red flowers begin to bloom._

Hux is rocketed back to the Finalizer, jolting as he returns to his own body, his headspace empty again. When he opens his eyes, Ren is staring at him, lips parted.

“I love you.” Ren says, and then Hux is coming, tumbling over the edge, thighs tightening around Ren’s middle as he squeezes his eyes shut and screams with the force of it, spilling over himself and Ren, both. 

Ren’s movements are erratic now, and Hux holds him close, murmurs words of encouragement in his ear, despite how quickly oversensitive he’s becoming, and presses a kiss to Ren’s shoulder, follows it with another one, and then sinks his teeth in, sharp. 

Ren growls, the sound positively animal, and then he’s following Hux, spilling inside of him, rolling his hips through his orgasm before collapsing, with finality, onto Hux’s heaving chest. Hux pushes a hand back through the sweaty mess of his hair, moving it away from his face. Ren glances at him, lips twitching into something resembling a smile. It’s almost shy. 

He moves to pull out, but Hux stops him. “No,” he says, voice soft, and Ren looks at him in surprise. “Stay,” Hux adds, “Just – for a minute. Please.” 

It’s not a word he uses often, but that’s been twice, now – and it seems to work, because Ren settles back down, nosing at the side of Hux’s neck, breathing him in. 

He doesn’t know how long they lie there, listening to each other breathing, the slow and steady beating of their hearts, but Hux feels himself drifting, and then Ren’s moving again, shifting, pulling out, leaving Hux feeling wrung out and empty. The muscles in his thighs ache, the skin there covered in an unpleasant mix of sweat and semen. He blinks his eyes open again, watching Ren sit up, searching for something. He picks up his discarded tunic, finds a clean edge of it, and carefully begins to wipe down Hux’s skin, his touch gentle. 

“Did you mean it?” Hux asks. 

Ren pauses, glances at him. “Mean what?” 

Hux swallows. “When you said that you love me.”

Ren puts the tunic down, rests his hand just above the bend in Hux’s knee. His thumb draws circles over the skin. “I wouldn’t say it otherwise.”

Hux reaches down, grasping for Ren’s hand. He threads their fingers together. “Good.” He says, voice heavy with exhaustion, “Because I do, too.” 

Ren glances down at their linked hands, something flickering across his face, too fast for Hux to catch.

After a moment, Hux says, “We should go, we can’t stay here.” 

“Mm,” Ren acknowledges, and turns to look out of the viewport, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips, “But this is so romantic,” 

Hux snorts, sitting up, wincing a little as his sticky skin peels away from the leather. Ren’s body is warm and comforting, and Hux instinctively presses in close, following Ren’s gaze out towards the stars. “If only the galaxy knew,” he says, “That the terrifying Supreme Leader of the First Order was secretly this soft,”

Ren shoots him a look. “I am not.” He protests. 

Hux thumbs at his cheek, playful, “You just made love to me in front of the stars, Ren. I beg to differ.” 

Ren turns his head, catches the end of Hux’s thumb between his teeth. “That means you’re soft, too.” He counters, pressing a kiss to the same spot. Hux lets his thumb play across Ren’s lower lip, wanting to kiss him again. 

“Perhaps we’re both romantics,” he says, teasing Ren’s lips apart, “But if anyone ever finds out, we’ll slaughter them.” 

Just as he’s planning on leaning in again, his datapad beeps from somewhere within his coat, and Hux sighs, sitting back on his heels. “I need to get that.” He says, pulling his hand back. 

“You’re off duty.” Ren says, “Let someone else deal with it.” 

“Ren –”

“You’re really going to choose work now?” Ren cocks an eyebrow, and Hux sighs again. 

“Fine.” He concedes, “Let me respond to the message. Then we’ll go.” 

He doesn’t wait for Ren to respond before he stands, stretching out his aching muscles before padding over to grab his coat, feeling for his datapad inside. He has three new messages when he thumbs it open, all updates from Mitaka. They’re nothing of importance. Ordinarily, he would have responded to them and made his way to the bridge, off duty or no – but tonight… Hux glances at Ren, stretched out on the sofa, in all his gorgeous, naked glory. 

_Notice received._ Hux types, _I will return to duty at 0600 hours._

“There.” He says, switching his datapad off and showing Ren the blank screen. 

Ren stands, running a hand up Hux’s side when he approaches, and plucking the datapad from his fingers. “Shall we?” he says. 

Hux looks sideways at his clothes, then down at himself. “I’m not putting those back on,” he says, “I’m filthy.” 

Ren rolls his eyes. “I like you like this,” he says, but when Hux only glares, he stoops to pick up his cowl from the floor, “Put this on, then. I’ll make sure we remain unseen.” 

They go to Ren’s quarters – which are situated closer to the viewing deck – Ren half dressed again and Hux, naked save for the cowl, itchy fabric draped over him. It’s intimate in a way Hux has no words for, though it causes a tight fluttering somewhere in his chest. Ren’s hand, free from its glove, is low on his back as they stop at his doors, Ren pressing one hand to the console to allow them entry. He gestures for Hux to go in first, ordering the lights to one hundred percent. 

Ren crosses over to deposit their rumpled clothes on the chair, while Hux is distracted by the flowers. Ren has kept them, every bouquet – tied with thin strips of leather and suspended from the ceiling near his desk. 

Hux approaches them slowly, lips parting. 

“Careful,” Ren says, from behind him. 

He turns. Ren is watching him, tunic bundled between his hands. 

“You kept them.” Hux replies simply, looking back at the flowers that hang above his head. They look dried out, the colours muted, though no less beautiful. 

“They’re delicate,” Ren says, and Hux hears him approach, the rustle of fabric as he pauses just behind, “But. Yes, I did.” 

Hux continues to stare at them, a strange feeling blossoming somewhere in his chest. “Did you put some in the book?”

“Yes,” Ren replies, and then he’s nosing at Hux’s neck from behind, breathing him in. His hands slide around to encircle Hux’s waist, and Hux turns to face him, bracing his hands on Ren’s forearms as the cowl is lifted carefully over his head, and deposited on the floor behind them. 

Hux looks down at him, letting his hand trace the paths of old scars, some so faint they’re barely noticeable, others fresher, pinker. His hand finds where the bowcaster bolt entered Ren’s side, tearing through flesh that hasn’t quite healed right. The skin is raised, angry despite having healed, tapering off in the approximate shape of, Hux thinks, a star. 

“Come to bed,” Ren says, softly. 

“We’re filthy,” Hux replies, though he can’t ignore the exhaustion that’s slowly creeping into his bones. He wants nothing more than to crawl under the sheets with Ren, curl up against him and sleep for days. 

“Wash when you wake.” Ren says, and before Hux can reply, he stoops and catches Hux under the knees, hoisting him up against his bare chest. He’s warm, and solid, and Hux can’t help but lean into him, breathing in his familiarity. 

Ren deposits him on the mattress, steps away to remove the rest of his clothes, and then he’s sliding in beside Hux, arranging the covers around them. They fall asleep like that, tangled together in Ren’s bed, a luxury Hux never expected to indulge in again after everything that’s happened – but it feels good. It feels right. Like this is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

***

Waking offers no opportunity to be languid – Hux rises on his alarm, showers, dresses, and hesitates, before pressing a kiss to Ren’s forehead before he leaves. Ren only grumbles in his sleep, and burrows deeper beneath the sheets, bringing a faint smile to Hux’s lips as he makes his way down to the bridge to begin his shift.

He relieves Peavey of duty with a stiff nod in response to the man’s salute, and settles comfortably back into his routine. It’s as though nothing has changed – yet Hux feels a new lightness in his step, a weight lifted from his shoulders. He and Ren are no longer at an impasse, and he knows that when working together, they can achieve anything. The notion is dangerously close to being sentimental, and Hux has to brush the thought away before he can linger on it. 

Mitaka arrives for duty at 0800 hours, offering Hux a crisp salute, before launching into a list of updates read from the screen of his datapad. Hux nods, and is about to dismiss him when something on Mitaka’s face gives him pause. 

“Something the matter, Lieutenant?” 

Mitaka shifts on his feet, a habit that a lifetime of military training hasn’t managed to knock out of him, and glances at the floor. “Permission to speak my mind, Sir.” 

Hux raises an eyebrow. It isn’t often Mitaka offers his opinion on anything, and Hux can’t deny that he’s curious. He nods. “Permission granted, Lieutenant.” 

Mitaka looks like he wants to wring his hands, but refrains, instead forcing his spine straight, and clasps his hands smartly behind his back. “I couldn’t help but notice, Sir, that you and Lord – I mean, Supreme Leader – Ren are on good terms again.” 

A muscle jumps in Hux’s jaw. “I beg your pardon?” 

Mitaka looks like Hux is about to shoot him. “I mean – it’s improper of me to say, I know – but the whole crew notice it, Sir, when the two of you are at odds. They were talking in the mess hall, about how things have been – ah, running a lot more smoothly – of late.” 

“I see.” Hux says, “And what else does my crew say about the Supreme Leader and I, in the mess hall?” 

His answer is clear as day in the violent red blush that appears, almost instantly, on Mitaka’s cheeks. He flounders for a moment, until Hux holds up a hand. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant. You are dismissed.”

“Yessir. Thank you, Sir.” 

Ren appears on the bridge several hours later, his hair pulled back from his face in a series of braids, as if he’s come straight from the training halls. He slows to a halt beside Hux, both of them standing at one of the viewports, and tips his head. 

“Something’s happened,” he observes. 

Hux glances at him, fingers itching to reach out and touch, now that he knows he’s allowed to again. 

“Nothing of importance,” he says, and looks back over his shoulder at the crew, “Lieutenant Mitaka said something that made me think, is all.” 

As if hearing his own name, Mitaka glances up from his workstation, catching the two of them looking at him, and his face colours. He ducks back down behind his console, disappearing from view as quickly as he’d raises his head. Ren snorts. 

“Him?” he asks, turning back. An amused smirk is tugging at his lip. 

Hux wants to roll his eyes, but doesn’t. Ren has never had much time for Mitaka. “It was useful intel. Apparently there has been gossip about us in the mess hall.” 

Ren doesn’t even blink. 

“You knew.” Hux adds, flatly. 

Ren only shrugs. “Their gossip and opinions are of no matter to us. Let them think what they wish.” 

“It’s highly inappropriate to speculate on the relationship between two of your superiors.” Hux frowns, though he remembers Phasma joking about he and Ren, a long time ago. The memory hits him like a punch in the gut. 

Ren’s hand brushes his elbow lightly, before dropping away. When he speaks next, he’s changed the subject, as if he can already tell where Hux’s mind has gone without needing to look inside.

“Do you know what day it is?” 

Hux turns, blinking. “I – what?” 

“Do you know,” Ren says, his voice low enough so that only Hux is able to hear him, “What day it is. Today?” 

“…I would need to check the chrono,” Hux says, feeling slow. It’s not unusual for Ren to change the subject so cryptically, but he’s never quite prepared for it. “Why?” 

“Come with me,” he says, tipping his head in the direction of the corridor. Hux glances around at his crew, who all seem to be working hard. He knows that at least a few of them will be sneaking glances at the two of them whenever they think they won’t be caught, but he’s grown used to that, much as it irks him. “They won’t care that you’re gone. Get someone to watch the shift for you, if you must.” 

Hux sighs, and gestures Mitaka over to him again. 

“Lieutenant,” he says, when Mitaka reaches the two of them, glancing nervously at Ren, “The Supreme Leader and I have something to attend to. I trust you to be competent enough to oversee the bridge in my absence.” 

Something in Hux’s words make Mitaka flush, but he nods, swallowing. “Yes, General Hux, Sir. Of course.” He twitches, and looks up at Ren, “Supreme Leader, Sir.” 

Ren ignores him, turning away. Hux nods in response to Mitaka’s salute, and follows. 

Ren keeps several paces ahead, walking quickly through the corridors of the ship. It takes Hux a moment to realise that they are making their way towards Snoke’s old Holochamber, which has lain unused since the destruction of Starkiller, Snoke having preferred to humiliate Hux on the bridge, or call the two of them over to the Supremacy for briefing. 

“Ren?” Hux says, when the doors slide open. “What’s going on?” 

Ren glances over his shoulder, an odd look on his face. “You’ll see,” he says, and steps inside. 

Hux hesitates, but follows him, feeling a sense of dread creeping upon him when the doors slide shut at their heels, leaving them in darkness. He can just about make out Ren’s silhouette ahead of him, and follows quickly, their footfalls echoing in the empty room. 

There’s a low buzzing noise, and a moment later, the lights flicker to life, illuminating the cavernous space. Up ahead of them is a projection of a throne. Ren continues his journey towards it, but now Hux stops. 

“What is this?” 

Ren mounts the steps, circling the holoprojection, sweeping a hand through it and causing it to flicker, before returning to its original image. “I wanted to give you a gift,” he says, eyes lifting to meet Hux, pinning him to the spot with the intensity of his gaze, “But the timing wasn’t right. So, I’m offering you a…glimpse, of your gift. A promise of what’s to come.”

“You’re being cryptic, Ren.” Hux manages to say, though his heartbeat feels wild in his chest. 

“I meant what I said about your rank. Making you Grand Admiral – it would offer you so much more power than you currently hold. I may be the Supreme Leader in name – but my throne is yours, Hux. If you want it.” 

He takes a couple of steps forward, stops at the foot of the stairs. “Ren –” he stops, “I don’t know what to say.” 

A short laugh escapes Ren’s lips, and he smiles, a familiar quirk at the edge of his mouth, “That’s a first.” He says, “Say yes.”

“Come here, you ass.” Hux says, feeling an answering smile threatening to take over his expression. When Ren dismounts the steps and is directly in front of him, he reaches up to brush his thumb across Ren’s jawline. “First, I want to know why.” 

“On this day, the Core Worlds celebrate a – festival of love, of sorts. It’s traditional to honour your partner or spouse,” he looks mildly embarrassed, but presses on, “I wanted to give you something in return for the flowers.” 

Not knowing what else to say, Hux laughs. Once he starts, he can’t stop, despite how Ren’s expression darkens, his brows drawing together. 

“Wait,” he chokes out, gripping onto the fabric of Ren’s tunic when he tries to move away, “I’m not laughing at you. I’m not, I just – if only they could see you like I do.” He takes a steadying breath, “Just…” 

He tails off, stretching up to press a firm kiss to Ren’s lips, the other man’s arms wrapping instinctively around his waist, pulling him close. 

“Yes.” He says, “A thousand times, Ren. Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> talk star wars to me @ translkylo on tumblr!!!


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